Some Assembly Required
by Shmeeko
Summary: The penguin found himself distracted by the bright lights of the big apple, painting the night sky a murky gold from sheer light pollution. It was dazzling, and warmed his heart with its familiarity. He wasn't sure if he really had a home any more, but this city was the one place he felt he truly belonged. And something told him that this was where he needed to be.
1. Step 1

"Catch it!"

"Stop that penguin!"

"Don't hurt it!"

"Does anyone have a net?"

Skipper weaved through the legs of scrambling staff and civilians alike. Thankfully, panic spread through humans like wildfire. The first few crew members who'd been startled by the presence of a penguin in their cargo hold had shouted for help catching it. As the shouts carried and passed from the lips of one to another, the story of what was found in the hold was twisted and warped. Skipper had already escaped the first bumbling capture attempts when news reached the deck that an exotic pet had escaped its crate in the hold. The word "exotic" brought with it the thoughts of snakes, tigers and poisonous lizards, and the theories as to what it was that had escaped grew only more wild as the panic evolved.

Humans were strange creatures. A penguin in the cargo hold had blown up into something as bizarre as a Python attacking crew members below deck, and only in the span of a few minutes.

Thankfully, the panic provided excellent cover. No one noticed the little black-and-white bird sliding quickly along the hardwood floors, travelling with the crowd, heading topside.

He launched himself off the top step and onto the deck, hearing the startled voices of the few humans who had caught a glimpse of him. The crowd was thickening and the questions were mounting with terrific volume. Those who noticed him had their observations silenced by shouting aristocrats, demanding answers and managerial presence.

Skipper launched himself off the side of the ship, pulling into a perfect dive and drove under the skin of the salt water like a splinter. He didn't resurface for quite some time, and when he did, the cruise ship he'd been stowing away on was continuing towards Manhattan regardless of the chaos.

The penguin found himself distracted by the bright lights of the big apple, painting the night sky a murky gold from sheer light pollution. It was dazzling, and warmed his heart with its familiarity. He wasn't sure if he really had a home anymore, but this city was the one place he felt he truly belonged. Something about the hustle and bustle drew him in like a moth to a flame. A concrete jungle in every way, New York called to him.

His gut told him that this is where he needed to be, and he was never one to ignore gut instinct.

Truth be told, instinct was all he had left. After the incident in Denmark, Skipper had felt lost and confused. The one he'd trusted with his life had turned on him when it mattered most, and an entire country had shut him out as a result. With nowhere else to go, and no one else to go there with, Skipper had headed west, because it just felt _right._

Now, swimming quickly to shore just under the surface of the water, Skipper thought back to all the ships he'd stowed away on, from passenger vessels to freighters to the commercial cruise lines. It had all been to help him cross the Atlantic, help him close the distance between him and the bright lights of the big city. He was finally here, Brooklyn but a few minutes swim away, and his gut still ached with purpose.

He had no doubt about it. This was where he was supposed to be. But for what? And where exactly? New York was a big city, it wasn't like the answers would be staring him in the face, but he didn't even have a direction. He didn't know where to start.

Skipper leaped out of the water and onto the concrete of a riverside walkway. He shook his feathers dry with a full body quiver that started at his beak and ended with his tail feathers, then began to walk – or more accurately, waddle – towards the glow of street lights nearby.

His wet feet slapped against the concrete with more volume than Skipper cared for, but it was too late at night for any humans to be out in a residential area such as this, so he wasn't being overly cautious in the first place.

It was at times like these that Skipper missed his tape recorder. In the quiet of the street, the sound of his voice might be comforting, be it telling his unveiling escapades or recounting some distant missions. Though really, the sound of any voice would provide comfort enough. He was a soldier first, but that didn't excuse him for the occasional bout of loneliness that came from being a bird meant for a flock. Sometimes his tape recorder was a way to distract himself, but it – along with the rest of his few possessions – had been lost in Denmark or the journey from it.

Just more salt in his wounds was the bitter thought that followed this sentiment.

As he waddled out into a larger street, he felt the feathers on his back ruffle, displaced by the paranoid feeling of eyes in the dark, watching. He whirled, planting both feet firmly on the concrete in time to be blinded by the headlights of a van that roared quite suddenly to life.

Skipper grinned, his flippers up in a heartbeat. There was little his flippers could do in the face of a one-tonne steel vehicle, but the defence was automatic and brought with it a welcome rush of adrenaline that spiked with the revving of the van's engine. It had been parked there, waiting for him. A trap. No doubt, some of the humans on the ship had called animal control in their panic. There were probably vans out everywhere looking for a renegade penguin.

The engine revved a third time, and Skipper was poised to dodge, but the vehicle sat still, shining its high beams into his face.

"A standoff, eh?" he said aloud, feeling his bravado return to him. "That's alright, but you should know I'm not one to back down from a- hey!"

A metal wire enclosed around him, pulling tight and pinning his flippers to his side.

"Gotcha!"

Skipper's head whipped around, his eyes fixing upon the tall and lanky adolescent human that had snared him with a pole and wire. The boy reeled him in like a fish, and Skipper remained stone still. The wire had just enough give that he could swing his body up for a kick, but he had to wait for the right moment.

"Wow, you're a long way from home, aren't ya?" the boy picked up the bird, tucking the pole under his arm. He pulled at the wire, providing even more slack so he could turn the sea bird around and look down at him from the front. "Don't worry, buddy, we'll get you back into the aquarium where you belong."

"Sorry, awkward looking human, but not today."

The boy had given Skipper more than enough slack to actually pull himself out of the wire snare, prop his flippers against the boy's wrist and swing his foot up to deliver a solid kick to the youth's jaw. It was more of a shock than a truly damaging move, but that's all the little bird needed. The boy dropped him in surprise, stumbling back and entirely unprepared for when the penguin picked up the snare and swept it along the ground, knocking his feet out from beneath him.

Skipper didn't linger to hear his dazed questions, but dove onto his belly and rocketed around the gangly teenager, vanishing into the shadows of the city streets.

* * *

They caught up to him eventually, this time with a larger team. No one really believed the rookie who swore up and down that the penguin had attacked him, but they knew how to recognize a wild one. A team of four boxed him into an alley, herding him into a dead end and then dropping a cage on him from the fire escape above. It was a well executed move, and part of Skipper admired the humans' team work.

The other part was fuming that he'd been caught at all. It didn't help that they bragged to one another about how easy a catch this was, and began trading stories of more difficult escaped animals. Rabid dogs and escaped snakes, to name a few. Sure, catching one penguin was easy when there were four humans twenty times his size. Everything would be easier for him if there were more than one operative on a job!

But Skipper was given little attention as he was loaded into the back of a van. They said nothing on his deliberate glares and the way he sat stubbornly in the middle of the crate with his flippers folded across his chest. They slammed the doors shut and laughed about something they'd seen in the city earlier that day.

Well, at least he wasn't under surveillance back here.

Skipper rose and moved to examine the lock of his portable cell. He was expecting the traditional pinch-spring lock they had before his overseas operation, but this time he was faced with a four dial number lock. It needed a four digit code and without it, Skipper wasn't getting out.

Bitterly, the bird fell back onto his hindquarters and resumed his halfhearted attempt to bore a hole through the lock of his cage with the sheer power of his glare.

He spent most of the ride in a bitter silence, reflecting on what he'd done wrong and what he should have done – how he could have preformed better. The more he thought on it, the more bitter he got. By the time they'd reached their destination, Skipper had bounced around in the back of the truck in a stew of his own rage. When the doors opened, the animal control agents might as well have been hit with a tidal wave, the force of his anger was so severe.

It made them pause.

"Well he looks like a happy camper," one said, peering into the dark and shaking his head at the bird that sat and brooded alone in the heart of it.

"He's been shut in a cruise ship for days, and then thrown out onto the streets of Brooklyn. I'd be feelin' pretty cranky right now, too."

Ironically, the thing Skipper was most peeved about was that he wasn't _still_ out on the streets of Brooklyn. He couldn't easily accept that he'd been thwarted by these humans.

"Well, we got a new home for him here, with plenty of his own kind."

As they dragged the cage out of the truck, Skipper jumped to his feet and clung to the bars for stability as he was carried thought a clean-smelling building. Plenty of his own kind? He doubted that whatever penguins lived in this prissy, chlorine-scented happy house were anything like him.

Still, that small part that had admired the teamwork of his captors was once again looking on the bright side. He'd been dwelling on his loneliness, and they were bringing him to other penguins.

"Be careful what you wish for," he grumbled to himself, making a mental note to shove that glass-half-full mentality into the darker corners of his brain where it belonged. Paranoia was the way to go.

He was brought through a white door into a disturbingly white room. Maybe "happy house" wasn't that wild of a title for this place.

The "penguin habitat" was a big box, wider that it was long, with a glass window along the southern wall – one of the longer walls. The walls and ceilings were mostly white, give or take a few pale grey triangles that were probably meant to look like mountains. The floor was an uneven, darker grey, emulating stone. There were even some additional levels on the east side of the room, so Skipper could safely assume that yes, the floor was meant to look like stone. Finally, there was a thin pool against the glass south wall, likely deeper than what he could see.

Skipper was brought into the heart of the room, while penguins of all kinds swarmed the humans as they entered, chattering loudly about fish. Skipper grimaced as he was lowered onto the ground and he found himself gravitating to the centre of his cage to get away from the birds that squawked at the walls. Some of them may have shared his build and feather pattern, but none of these penguins were anything like him.

A group of them tried climbing up onto his cage to get closer to the humans, while the others swarmed at their feet, begging and yelling and chattering.

The humans plopped him down and stood straight.

"Let's leave him in there for a little bit, just so he gets used to the others before we let him out."

"Good idea."

The humans pushed the birds gently away from their legs and quickly made for the exit, a small herd of penguins on their heels. The door was slammed shut without a single penguin having made a successful escape. Skipper found this appalling, due to the fact that the door had been open just about the entire time they were bringing him in.

No, these mindless birds were more hopeful to get fish from their human masters than to taste freedom.

Skipper made a face, listening as the clamour died down and focus shifted to him.

Then it became uncomfortably silent.

They were all staring at him, unblinking, waiting for him to do something. He was not the type to get stage fright, but the vacant stares of all these penguins was unnerving, and his words came with difficulty.

"Hello, fellow penguin...uhh...brothers." Skipper couldn't help the choppy speech, but it didn't seem to matter. One penguin in the crowd squawked about fish, and then the clamour arose once more, but far more tame as the penguins chatted about fish amongst each other. They completely ignored him, returning to their respective groups. Some dove into the pool and vanished beneath the surface, while others hopped up onto the rocks.

All the while, squawking like brainless birds.

All but one.

Skipper found his gaze drawn to one solitary bird who still stood by the door, not chirping away thoughtlessly about food. He stood with his head tilted back, squinting up at the door, one flipper was propped against his flank while the other rubbed absently beneath his beak – a thoughtful pose. This penguin didn't share the bloated look of the others. In fact, he was quite thin. Given his height, he was probably always a slender bird, but in that moment he looked almost malnourished.

Skipper watched as the penguin waddled over to one of the rocks and slipped his flipper into a thin crack. From there he was able to pull out a hastily cut panel and reveal that the rocks were hollow. The penguin ducked inside for only a moment, emerging to shut the panel and sit with his back against it, this time with a notepad and a pencil.

The penguin sat and scribbled, oblivious to the watchful stare of the caged newcomer, absorbed in his own work.

Skipper was about to call out, hopeful to find at least one penguin in this looney bin that wasn't completely nuts, when a beeping sounded at the door. The birds began to scramble again, rushing to the door with a cacophony of noise. Skipper couldn't explain why his heart sank to see that one penguin rise to his feet to move with the crowd.

In walked two new humans, each with a bucket of fish.

This caused the other penguins to kick into a frenzy, climbing over one another to get closer to the humans, leaping this way and that to snatch the fish they were thrown right out of the air. Skipper tried to spot his odd-penguin-out in the crowd, but there was too much black-and-white motion. He settled for sitting back in his cage and watching his penguin "brothers" scramble shamelessly for their meals.

One of the humans dropped a few small fish through the bars of his cage, wasting kind words on the penguin who wouldn't even give her the time of day. He frowned at the fish and the penguins who literally _gnawed_ at the steel of his cage in an effort to get at his share.

That was when he spotted him. The tall penguin was at the door – which had been left ajar again – and peering out into the hall. Skipper leaned forward.

"Go," he hissed under his breath. "Make a break for it, man!"

But for whatever reason, this penguin hesitated. He peered into the hall for a few short moments before waddling backwards in time for the humans to turn and bark at him to get away from the door. He turned to stare at them, moving only when the female worker ushered him away with a push. They shut the door behind them while the penguins scattered, some hoarding fish from others. Those who chewed at his bars eventually gave up, going instead to chase at those who withheld fish and weren't protected by steel cages.

Skipper felt his stomach growl, and his eyes settled on the few morsels of fish piled in the centre of his cage. He made a face, then resigned to crawling towards them. He needed his strength to escape, after all.

He picked up one small salmon in his beak and flipped it up into the air, poising to catch it as it fell.

Instead, he was met with a rush of air and the sound of a flipper on scales. His fish was knocked away from him at the peak of its toss, and it flopped lifelessly against the side of his cage for only a few moments. A passing penguin spotted the bite-sized snack and snatched it up from between the bars before waddling away hurriedly, afraid to lose his ill-gotten prize.

"Hey!" Skipper rounded on the culprit: the very same penguin he'd been watching earlier, pressed against the outside of his cage, having used one long flipper to knock the fish away. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had a-!"

"It's not worth it."

Skipper was stunned to silence at the penguin's matter-of-fact tone. More so, he was surprised to hear actual words from the beak of a penguin brother in this place that had to do with something other than fish.

"I don't know if you've noticed, newcomer, but the penguins in this place aren't quite right in the head."

Skipper still couldn't drum up words, so he settled for nodding.

"Through some careful observation, I've surmised that the fish is messing with their heads." The penguin withdrew from the cage wall, rubbing for a moment at the indents in his feathers from the bars before flipping quickly through his notebook. He stopped on a page and turned it to Skipper, holding it up for him to see.

It was a diagram of a fish which was drawn as if it were glowing, the humans standing and watching a flock of penguins rush for it.

"Go ahead and lick that fish there," the tall penguin pointed to the remaining morsel on the cage floor. "Don't actually consume it, as I can't be sure how quickly the effects will take place."

Skipper did as he was told, picking up the tail of the fish in a flipper and giving it a tentative lick. It had the taste of any old fish, that was for sure, but it was faint. The dominant flavour was almost metallic.

"The only logical conclusion is that the humans are altering our food consumption to keep us better contained." The penguin sat back on his tail, flipping to a new page and starting to scribble wildly.

"So that's why no one made a break for it when the door opened..." Skipper mused aloud. He turned and began to pace, his flippers folded behind his back as he thought. "And that would explain the cooky behaviour of our penguin brothers...which reminds me." The tall penguin lifted his head, raising his brow at the sudden appearance of the stocky other directly in front of him, the bars between them only barely keeping them separated. "Why didn't _you_ run?"

The penguin shrugged and returned to his notes.

"I've tried."

"Oh? And obviously..."

"I was unsuccessful. There is just far too much human interference from here to the exit. I'm caught before I even make it out of the hall."

"Why not try when the humans have all gone home? The place has to be quieter then."

"The door is locked electronically from the other side. The humans need to open it before I can get out."

"Any air vents?"

"Oh, plenty. But they're too small for a penguin our size to fit through. There are bigger ones outside I might be able to get through, but the grates are too high for me to reach."

"I see." Skipper turned to pace again, already forming the beginnings of a plan to escape.

"I am Kowalski, by the way. I was transferred here a couple weeks ago from my previous home. Needless to say, this new place just doesn't compare." Kowalski's tone became wistful as he cast his gaze around the habitat.

"I agree. But how have you survived two weeks without food?"

"Ah!" there was a twinkle in the penguin's eye at this question. He scrambled to his feet and hurried back to his rock, ducking inside after making sure no other penguin was watching. He returned with a plastic bag in his grip and plopped back down outside Skipper's cage. He turned the bag upside down and dumped the contents onto the synthetic stone floor.

"A tuna fish sandwich. One of the 'penguin handlers' has it for lunch every other day and keeps it in the left pocket of his overalls. If I'm careful about when I take it, he usually doesn't notice where his lunch is going. Then I just have to make it last until it's safe to take another." The sandwich was already half gone, but the bird cut the remnants in half with a precise chop, turned it on its side and pushed the half through the bars. Skipper turned up his beak.

"Negative, my feathered friend. I can't impose on you like this, you've barely got enough for yourself!"

"Oh no, I insist! You're the first penguin that's arrived since I've been here that hasn't already been corrupted by the phony fish. I don't mind giving up a percent of my catch gains if it means not seeing another sensible bird go into a fish induced frenzy."

For the first time since arriving in America, Skipper felt a genuine smile pull over his beak.

"Well thank you, compadre. My name is Skipper."

"Skipper?"

"Affirmative." Skipper sat across from the other bird and nearly swallowed the sandwhich quarter in one full bite. "Just recently got back in town and was treated to a rather cold welcome."

"I can imagine." Kowalski had set his notepad on the ground and was picking at his own quarter.

"So," Skipper began, "what are our options?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Our options. Do you got any?"

Kowalski stared for a few moments, raising a brow inquisitively.

"Well sure, I've got lots of...options, I suppose. What sort of options are you looking for?"

"Escape options, of course! Obviously you and I aren't meant to live in the likes of this feathered funny farm! Keep up, man!"

Kowalski's face seemed to light up at this. He abandoned the remnants of his sandwich and picked up his note pad. He scribbled on it for a few moments, lifted his head to squint at Skipper, then returned to his scribbling.

"Alright," he said after a few seconds of silence and scribbling, "alone I'm not tall enough to reach the vents, but together-!" He turned his notebook to show Skipper his drawing. This time, he'd drawn a quick sketch of the hallway, and two penguins standing one atop the other to reach an air vent that was halfway down the hall. "We'll be just tall enough to unscrew the vent cover and slip inside, then one can pull the other up!"

"Outstanding, Kowalski! One problem." Skipper's face fell as he gestured with a flipper to the lock on his crate. "Unless you've got the code for this lock box, I won't be doing any escaping any time soon."

Kowalski leaned over to look at the lock, then laughed.

"Pfft, Skipper, please." The penguin stood and waddled around the cage to the door. "A simple four-digit wheel-mechanism lock? Child's play for someone like me."

"Oh?"

"Watch and learn." Kowalski clapped his flippers together, then leaned in close to the lock. He spun the first wheel quickly, keeping the side of his head pressed to the metal to listen. He spun it slower, and slower, before settling on one number. He then did the same with the next wheel, only this time the process was faster. It seemed like no time at all before Kowalski had picked his four numbers, and with the push of a button, the door popped open.

"Vio-la! Free as a bird," the penguin paused to chuckle at his own joke, "so to speak."

"Well colour me impressed, Kowalski!" Skipper stepped out of the cage, and as soon as he did, a nearby penguin took notice.

Well, more specifically, he took notice of the fish still left in the cage. Skipper was shoved out of the way as the penguin dashed into the cage, his only focus on the food. Kowalski adorned a devious smile and shut the cage quickly.

"And we've even got a decoy penguin to take your place."

"He looks nothing like me!" Skipper peered into the cage at the purely black-and-white penguin who'd taken his place. He had a black face and a similarly dark ring on his belly.

"That's fine, it'll be enough to fool the humans. They only need to buy it for a few minutes."

Kowalski collected his notebook and what was left of his sandwich, then lead his new partner in crime to his hollow-rock cubby, where they could sit and discuss their plan in peace.

* * *

The hours flew by leading up to the duo's planned escape, and when the familiar beeping sounded at the door they were ready. Skipper lead the way, weaving behind the humans while they were being mobbed with excited penguins. They slipped into the hall unnoticed, following which Kowalski lead him to the vent in question.

"Alright, penguin tower time," Skipper crowed with a grin as Kowalski took position directly under the vent. Skipper hopped atop the taller penguin's head, and with Kowalski's added height, he was able to reach their target easily. Trapping the screws between his flippers and twisting them loose was a breeze, and Kowalski was so light from malnourishment, lifting him was almost effortless.

Once in the vents, Kowalski directed Skipper through the facility. Considering they only made two wrong turns and Kowalski confessed to guessing the route, the fact that they made it out to the roof within the hour was admirable. The building they'd been kept in covered a lot of surface area, but didn't have much height to it. The tallest part was only three stories, and they'd emerged on the roof of a section that was only two.

"Sweet, sweet freedom!" Kowalski collapsed gratefully onto the rooftop, then began rolling across the concrete. Skipper let the childish display slide for a little while, instead walking to gain his bearings. He was still in New York, and could see Lady Liberty from where he stood. What was more was he could smell the salty tang of seawater on the air. They couldn't be far from the river.

Kowalski seemed to notice Skipper's thoughtful stare out towards water and collected himself. He waddled over to stand at Skipper's side.

"So...any plans from here on out?"

"Well, establishing a base of operations will be my first mission, but that is my burden. You can return to wherever it is you call home." Skipper lifted his head high and folded his flippers behind him, breathing in the faint sea air and smiling. He shut his eyes against the breeze, aware that Kowalski fidgeted beside him, tapping his wing tips together sheepishly.

"To tell you the truth Skipper, I uh...well I don't exactly have a place anymore, per se...What we just broke out of was supposed to be my home."

Skipper's smile remained in place as he opened his eyes and turned to the taller penguin.

"Then, I would be honoured to have you fight at my side, Kowalski. You have to admit, we make a pretty good team."

Kowalski's face lit up in a similar way as Skipper had seen in the aquarium habitat. He stood straight, bringing a flipper up in a salute.

"Aye, Skipper. It'd be my pleasure."

* * *

**Kahkaww!**

**Hello, PoM community. This is my first attempt at writing these guys, and I know I need work. This will be a short, three-chapter story just to help me get into the feel of the penguins and what kind of style I'll be settling into, then I suppose I'll be doing a handful of one shots or prompts. I haven't gotten that far.**

**So, if you could all be dears and let me know what you think - what you liked, what you didn't like - I'd love to hear it. So please, type a quick review and let me hear what you have to say. I will respond to whatever reviews I can (:**

**Thanks so much for reading,**

**Toodles~**

**Shmee**


	2. Part B

It was weeks before the penguin pair found a place suitable to stay, and even after finding it they realized it wouldn't last as a long-term home. What they'd found was a small supply shed on a privately owned wharf. It was small, dusty and riddled with holes where the wood had rotted away. It was rickety and creaked at even the slightest of breezes. Not to mention, the wharf occasionally played host to a few stray dogs looking to make meals of the dead things that washed up on the shores.

But over the months, the birds learned how to work around their occasional visitors, taking comfort in the fact that they didn't expect to be there forever – just until something better came up.

For the most part, it was a place where Kowalski could regain his strength properly and a place for Skipper to return to after staking out the city for a more suitable home. The dogs left the birds alone, so long as they stayed out of sight and out of mind. When the canine threat was gone, the two could swim out into the bay to catch live fish, which kept them going through the weeks.

It wasn't stable or secure enough for Skipper to feel at home there, but it was all they had, and just like the shores of Brooklyn before being taken to the aquarium, Skipper's instinct told him this was where he needed to be.

It was an early Monday morning when Skipper could proudly cry two-for-two on his gut instinct. It had been almost a month since their daring escape from the aquarium, and Kowalski had put on a healthy amount of weight. He'd even accompanied Skipper on many of his 'Recon Operations,' instead of remaining behind to catch fish and rest as Skipper would insist when they first settled into the shack.

On this particular morning, the pair awoke to an explosion that shook Kowalski right off a high shelf he'd converted into a bunk. He clattered ungracefully to the floor in front of Skipper, who'd found comfort in a small crate turned on its side, just his size. He rolled out of his cot and to his feet as Kowalski gathered himself to rise to his own – albeit much slower, and groaning in pain all the while.

Skipper jumped up to the dusty little plastic window, clearing a circle with a wing. He peered out of his opening and out towards the water, searching the bay for the source of the explosion.

"Looks like an incident on one of the morning deliveries," he relayed to his companion, who was flipping through his notebook.

"According to the schedule I swiped from a dock worker in town, there are only two ships scheduled to pass through the bay at this hour."

"Any of them prone to spontaneous combustion?" He tore his gaze from the window and down to the brainy penguin, who flipped back and fourth between two pages in his book.

"Well, one of them is a munitions shipment for the NYPD."

Skipper chuckled.

"Ah, refreshments for the bulls in blue. Well, if this is on them, there's no need for us to get involved. What's the other ship?"

"A small emergency medical transport for sick and wounded animals."

Skipper's chuckle grew into a laugh. He jumped down from the window and headed for the door. He wanted to watch the NYPD scramble to clean up their mess, maybe ridicule them, or criticize their tactics.

"I don't think a water bus full of sickly animals is gonna be carrying too many explosives."

Kowalski grunted in agreement, and followed his friend out. The two penguins waddled to the end of one of the docks to stare out into the bay, where a small red and white ship had stopped on the water, smoking from its stern.

"Odd," mused Kowalski aloud, "I didn't think red and white were really the police department's colours."

Skipper, already wrought with his own suspicions and beginning to think they would have to make this their problem after all, nodded in agreement. His suspicions were confirmed as he spotted a second ship puttering quickly into the bay, a much larger ship, painted with blues and greys.

"Kowalski..."

But Kowalski was already putting Skipper's thoughts into words.

"It would appear that the NYPD weapons shipment is not the exploding boat."

The scientist had barely finished his sentence when suddenly the bow of the second ship erupted into flames. Even from their distance, the boys could hear the frantic panicking of confused humans on both vessels. Skipper poised at the end of the dock, his thoughts on the medical ship and the wounded animals that may need rescue and attention the humans could not immediately give. As he leaned forward to take a dive, Kowalski suddenly grabbed his flipper.

"Skipper, wait!"

Kowalski pulled him back and pointed to an approaching shape in the water. It was relatively small, dark, and travelled quickly just beneath the surface, kicking up waves in its wake. At a glance, it looked somewhat like a torpedo. But a glance was all the paranoid part of Skipper needed to assume the worst – they were under fire.

"Hit the deck!"

Both penguins dove to the ground and braced for impact, Kowalski clinging desperately to a raised chunk of wood.

The torpedo hit their dock, but failed to do much more than give it a good shake. Kowalski still let slip a wail of panic, half expecting to go up in the flames of a third explosion.

The boys remained prone on the dock for a few long moments, listening to the sounds beneath them. They could hear the quick splashes of water being disturbed, a low, guttural groan followed quickly by a series of weak coughs.

Wait.

Torpedoes don't cough.

Skipper dragged himself to the edge of the dock to peer over suspiciously. On a flat rock protruding from the water lay – much to his surprise – yet another penguin, his belly to the sky and his breathing shallow. Stretched out on his back, he looked like he could almost be Kowalski's height, though he lacked the scientist's slight build; the bird below was big, a solid mass of feathers and muscle. But Skipper's observations on the bird's size were quickly dismissed by his next relization. The bird was bleeding, and badly. The water around the rock was tainted with red, and open gashes on his chest and around his shoulders were beginning to stain his plumage a bright crimson.

"Kowalski, we got a man down over here!"

Skipper dove in, ignoring the blood and the danger of shallow rocks. He broke the surface, turned his gaze up to where Kowalski had poked his head over the side of the dock and gestured to the shore.

"Meet me over there with whatever medical supplies you can find!"

Kowalski saluted and vanished to do as he was told.

Skipper then turned his attention to the penguin. He climbed up onto the slippery rock and tried first to sit the bird up. He was just as solid as he looked, heavy with muscle and difficult to move, but Skipper managed. Once the penguin was upright, he was able to scoot around and pull the bigger bird up onto his back. From there he could dive back into the water, one wing keeping both of the unconscious penguin's around his neck while the other pushed them both to shore, his weight not as hindering when they were both surrounded by water.

Nevertheless, Skipper was grateful when Kowalski met him half way and helped to drag the stranger ashore. In that short amount of time, the academic had assembled tape, bits of cloth, a dark bottle and blankets. Skipper didn't even bother to ask what was meant to do what.

Together, the two penguins managed to roll the wounded third onto the blanket. They each grabbed a corner, pulling the blanket and the bird up the hill without grinding any more sand into his wounds, or leaving a questionable bloodstain behind them.

"Alright," Skipper demanded, turning to face the taller penguin, "talk to me. What do we got?"

Kowalski frowned.

"Not much, Skipper. I found some alcohol in one of the crates, we can use it to clean his wounds. We'll wrap them in cloth and tape it down. Hopefully, that will be enough to hold him together until we can get him to a vet – or at least someone more qualified to deal with...this" Kowalski gestured wildly to the mass of limp bird.

Skipper matched his comrade's frown with a concerned expression of his own. By Kowalski's description, they really didn't have much to work with, but they would just have to make do.

"Okay, let's make it happen."

Together, they pulled the deadweight a little further up shore. Once they'd settled far enough away from the water, Kowalski set to work. He soaked a strip of cloth with the alcohol, dust from the bottle collecting on his feathers. The stuff reeked something terrible, but it was all they had and their charge was quickly bleeding all over their workspace.

The academic pressed the soaked rag onto the most obvious of the bird's wounds – the deep gash travelling from his right wing, across his chest and down towards his left foot. The alcohol had barely begun to seep in when their patient suddenly shot upright with a strangled gasp, his eyes wide.

Both birds reared back as the largest of the three went rigid, his feathers puffing out as he started to pant in alarm. His agitation pumped the blood through his system with purpose, which only meant more of the sticky fluid began to colour his white feathers red.

Skipper was the first to attempt damage control, holding both flippers up and speaking slowly to the panicked bird.

"Easy now, compadre, try not to get so worked up."

The bird rose shakily to his feet and stumbled forwards, heading blindly towards the salt water down the beach. Kowalski and Skipper exchanged a look as he stopped only a couple feet away, breathing raggedly.

"We're just trying to help you," chimed the tallest of the two, wringing the alcohol-soaked rag in his flippers.

Instead of answering, the big bird turned slowly. Skipper didn't scare easy, but there was something unsettling about the way the bloody penguin squared his shoulders and let a menacing growl roll loudly in his throat.

"I said, take it easy!" Skipper repeated, holding up his flippers. "We're not your enemy, we just want to help clean you up, you're in bad shape!"

"If you continue to bleed like that, you may lose consciousness again. And, well...you might not wake up, if you know what I mean."

The penguin responded with a snarl and charged forward, all mass and momentum. Skipper was ready and sidestepped the charge with ease, but Kowalski was not so quick. The wild penguin clamped his beak down on the scientist's wing, and used that grip to fling the taller bird towards the water. His yelp of pain was lost as Kowalski tumbled away and the bird rounded on Skipper, who stood ready for an attack.

The stranger squared his shoulders a second time, but remained rooted in place. His breathing was now even more ragged, his face twisted into an hybrid expression of pain and rage, the look in his eyes wild. It was clear that this bird wasn't in his right mind, a danger to himself and those around him, but it was obvious by the blood that he needed the help, whether he wanted it or not.

The stocky penguin felt himself grimace. Fine. If he was going to make this difficult, Skipper wouldn't coddle him, wounded or otherwise.

Skipper launched himself forward, and the other penguin met his charge evenly. The bird drove his skull into Skipper's gut, knocking the air from his lungs and pushing him back into a wooden support for the nearby dock. The soldier wheezed as his breath was pressed from him against the weight of the bigger bird, but the stocky penguin was quick to notice that the force against his gut was getting weaker and less deliberate with time. The bird's breathing was getting heavier, his chest heaving with the effort of working his lungs.

But whatever sympathies Skipper had were shoved aside. This hostile had already made it clear he wasn't ready to listen to words, so Skipper had to respond in a manner the other bird would understand.

Brute force.

He grabbed the wing of the big bird and turned when the pressure had weakened enough, switching their positions and pressing the bird's front into the post. He planted a foot on his back and kept a firm grip on his wing, holding it in such a way that he could dislocate the limb with a simple twist. The bird struggled and snapped, almost dislodging his wing of his own accord, but Skipper held firm. When he started to buck with enough force that Skipper feared he'd lose the hold or be forced to hurt him further, Kowalski appeared at his side.

Acting without the need for command, the taller penguin leaned his weight into the bird's back and held the other wing out behind their difficult patient.

Admirably, the bird continued to buck and twist, almost dislodging his captors numerous times. But the pair were vigilant in their hold, and eventually exhaustion settled in and the struggling died down. All at once, the bird went slack against the post, panting, his grunts angry but tired. To be safe, they held him there for a few moments longer under two pairs of watchful eyes, waiting for the moment where he'd get another ridiculous torrent of aggressive energy. Only when Skipper felt confident the hostile wouldn't kick up another fuss, he gave Kowalski a nod.

Slowly – and somewhat reluctantly – they released him. Instead of turning to attack, the stranger slid down onto his belly in the sand. Kowalski let out a long sigh of relief, then cast a look of disdain down to the scratches on his wing from the wild bird's beak. He almost wanted to boot the bird back into the river for all the trouble he was. Almost.

Together, they dragged the exhausted penguin back up to the shack. He was conscious the entire time, but didn't struggle and simply lay still, panting but otherwise quiet.

The first thing they did was restrain him, using a length of rope to bind his wings to his sides. When he snapped suddenly at Kowalski a second time, Skipper taped his beak shut, apologizing for the necessary evil.

When they were sure the bird was well constricted, they set about treating his numerous wounds once again. Kowalski ignored his patient's guttural growls and muffled squawks of pain, his well of sympathy for the psychopath completely dry. He cleaned the blood from the penguin's feathers and rubbed disinfectant into the wounds, tuning out the angry hiss of pain he elicited. With Skipper preventing him from squirming too much, the scientist bound what wounds he could with the cloth, working around the rope that kept him manageable.

They discovered one nasty looking scar that cut down the left side of the bird's face, one that had carved through the tough material of his beak. The bird shook his head wildly and protested with what noises he could manage when the taller penguin tried to examine it. Regardless of his struggling, Kowalski was able to conclude that whatever had caused that scar had done it long before any of his other wounds. There was nothing they could do for it.

They spent most of the day caring for the big bitter bird. He remained conscious the entire time, despite the damage he'd endured, and glared at his caretakers with a fierceness that went ignored. They ate dinner with him glowering at them from a corner, cocooned in a blanket against his will and still bound beneath it. Whenever they looked to him, or tried to start a conversation, he'd answer with only a threatening growl, his feathers puffing out with aggression.

Unable to coax any words from their charge, Skipper and Kowalski decided to let him be. They would keep him under watch until they could return him to the officials and get him to a vet who may be able to help more – or at least treat his obvious case of psychosis.

It was well past midnight when Skipper awoke to the sounds of ungraceful shuffling. He was hardly awake when he sprang to his feet, acting more on instinct and responding to the fear that the bird was trying to ambush him as he slept. His flippers were up in defence as his senses assembled themselves and he blinked his vision into focus. The bird he'd concerned himself with was on his belly and trying to drag himself towards Skipper's and Kowalski's meagre pile of leftover fish. With his wings still bound tightly to his sides, the bird's mobility was very limited. He would dig his beak into the wooden planks beneath them and drag himself forward, a slow and probably painful process.

"And what do you think you're doing?"

Skipper's voice made the bird jump. He'd been so focused on his objective, he hadn't even noticed the stocky penguin snap to the defensive in the dark. Now he turned his stare to Skipper, narrowed his eyes and growled from the floor, but he did not sit up or roll over.

"Easy there, killer. Haven't we made it clear that we're not gonna hurt you?"

The growling gradually ceased, and only when the bird fell silent did Skipper cross the floor to where he lay. He folded his wings over his chest and smirked down at the prone mass of muscle. When the big penguin failed to move, Skipper realized that he'd gotten himself stuck like that, unable to sit himself upright. He was about to laugh, until the penguin spoke out of the corners of his beak.

"Fish," he grumbled, in much the same guttural tone he'd been growling.

Skipper didn't question or bargain. He stooped down and carefully unwound the tape that bound his beak shut, mindful that he wouldn't be bitten as Kowalski had. He then waddled to their mound of leftovers and kicked a decent sized cod from the pile to the bird, who looked up at him with suspicion.

"You wanted fish," Skipper said simply, answering that doubting stare. That look remained for a few moments longer, only fading when the bird's gaze focused on something above them. Skipper turned to see Kowalski leaning over the uppermost shelf he'd claimed as his bunk, watching in silence with a fascinated expression. The stockier of the three turned his attention back to the stranger, who now flicked his gaze back and forth between the two of them.

"We're not going to do anything shady," he assured, understanding the sizable bird's paranoia. "You have my word as a penguin.

Gradually, the aggressive bird scooted forward. He caught the cod in his beak and swallowed the fish whole, taking no more than a heartbeat to devour the whole thing. Amused and not at all surprised that their reluctant patient had worked up an appetite, Skipper slid him another, which he ate with little protest.

While the bird ate, Skipper quietly walked behind him. In one quick motion, he pulled the big penguin up into a sitting position and slid him closer to the small pile, then scooted back to avoid any retaliation to the contact – just in case.

The bird twisted around to stare at him, his expression decidedly blank.

"Help yourself, my berserker friend," said Skipper, gesturing with a flipper to the pile. "Better the fish than our wings."

The bird didn't waste any time tucking into his offerings. Content he'd be satisfied for the night, Skipper returned to his cot. He didn't intend to sleep – he wanted to keep an eye on their unpredictable guest – but he found that the day's events were more taxing on him than he thought. His head was heavy and his eyes burned, just begging to be closed.

So, he let them fall shut. He could listen for any sounds out of the ordinary.

* * *

"Skipper, he's gone!"

The shorter of the penguin pair rolled out of bed quite suddenly. He didn't remember falling asleep, but sunlight now trickled through the dusty window and Kowalski stood where their left over pile had once been. "He must have bitten his way through," the academic held up a long rope – the same rope they'd used to bind their captive. The ends were frayed. "Who knows where he could have gotten off to?"

The stocky penguin rubbed thoughtfully at the back of his head, then narrowed his eyes

"How long has he been gone?"

"There's no way to tell. I woke up to find this here."

Skipper inhaled slowly, and Kowalski misinterpreted the sigh as concern.

"He couldn't have gotten far, he is still wounded. With those kinds of injuries, he'd take days to get back to full strength, if not weeks."

Skipper was about to question whether or not tracking down the bird was really worth all the trouble when a noise caught his attention, quiet but close.

A growl.

The two went back to back instantly, flippers up. It wasn't the growl of a hostile penguin about to attack, which did nothing to soothe either of them as they inched towards the door, left just slightly ajar.

The pair exited the shed, only to turn and stare into the bared canines of one of the strays that frequented the docks. For a moment, Skipper's mind went blank and his heart kicked into a panicked frenzy. The dog was big. Easily twice Kowalski's height, with massive paws and an impossibly low snarl. Its beady little eyes were fixed on the tallest of the two, who let a whine slip out from between his beak.

But even if the pair were too stunned to react as quickly as they should have, someone else was.

"Get outta th'way!"

They barely had time to stumble aside when their pain-in-the-neck patient came barrelling through the space between them. He launched himself straight at the big pooch, landing a momentum-backed kick that landed right between the dog's eyes.

"Kowalski..." Skipper began slowly, watching in awe as the battered penguin bounced back onto the dock, giving the canine a fearsome growl of his own. He squared his shoulders and advanced in a manner very similar to how he had done the day before, when facing down the penguin duo.

"Skipper..." was Kowalski's equally slow response. The dog leapt, jaws snapping down hard on the empty air where the penguin had been just seconds before. Both spectators cringed, imagining how horribly wrong this could all go.

"What...What exactly are we looking at?

Kowalski took a few moments longer to reply, so involved in watching the big bird leap out of the way of those snapping jaws just in time, every time. He would bounce off the dock and land a kick somewhere around the dog's head, then leap back to avoid being caught in those teeth.

"W-well, my analysis would be that our uh...penguin patient is locked in a life-or-death battle with an aggressive stray dog."

"I can see that. But why?"

The two exchanged a look and the taller shrugged, unable to provide an answer.

In a climactic moment, the big bird landed a particularly smarting hit on the dog's nose, one that made the canine yelp in surprise. Without pause, the penguin landed back on the dock and suddenly regurgitated a live stick of dynamite. The penguin duo's cries of shock and orders to cease and desist were ignored. And when the dog snapped forward, the penguin shoved the explosive down the beast's throat.

"Skipper!?"

"Dynamite extraction, Kowalski, go, go, go!"

The pair sprung into action, Skipper taking point. He threw himself at the big bird, knocking him side with an impressive tackle. Kowalski was left staring down the snout of a startled looking dog, who'd begun to retch voilently. He took only a moment to panic over how he was supposed to get dynamite out of a dog's belly when he saw the sparking end of the explosive at the back of the beast's throat. He took in a big breath and looked the stray right in the eye.

"If you bite me," he said, "I won't be able to help you and you will undoubtedly die in a firey explosion."

The dog stared, and Kowalski didn't have time to make sure the dog understood because his tether to the explosive was quickly – and likely painfully – sparking away. Kowalski pried open the dog's jaws, quickly reached in and grabbed that sparking wire. He planted a foot against the dog's nose as a brace and pulled.

The dog made a disgusting, unnatural retching noise, but Kowalski fell back with the burning stick in hand. Thankfully, the wire was long enough that they would still have time to spare. That didn't deter him any from turning around and launching the stick of dynamite as far as he could into the bay.

He turned his attention back to Skipper, who had been thrown off of the aggressive penguin. The scarred bird had rounded on the dog, who was now terrified and confused, making a hacking noise that might have been coughs. It whined as the bird advanced, puffing out his feathers and giving a baritone growl of his own.

"Stop!" Skipper cried, rolling to his feet. Kowalski began to waddle forward quickly, though wondered what on earth he could do to stop this train wreck waiting to happen. The bird didn't seem to hear, so Skipper took in a breath and spoke again. This time he was much louder, and spoke with a commanding edge that made even Kowalski stop dead in his tracks. "_I said stop!"_

Miraculously, the bird's hostile posture eased, his eyebrows arching up with surprise. He turned, looking to the stocky penguin over his shoulder almost expectantly. The dog used the distraction to scramble away, its terrified cries following it out of the wharf.

Then it got very, very quiet. Kowalski was rooted in place, nervously tapping the tips of his flippers together as his blue stare flicked from one penguin to the next. Skipper stood panting, his feathers a mess from his tussle with the bigger bird, his eyes narrowed. He stood his ground stubbornly, even as their aggressive third turned to face him completely.

For a while, nobody moved, neither Skipper nor Kowalski were truly sure how to proceed. For whatever reason, Skipper's command had managed to stop the bird in his tracks. Now they didn't know what to expect. Why had he stopped, and what happened next?

Skipper was the first to break the silence, speaking slowly and watching the other bird like a hawk.

"I have a problem with you trying to _blow up strays_ in my city," he said. The bird made a face, but didn't answer. "You're obviously a danger to yourself and others."

"But Skipper, what can we do about it? We can't exactly lock him up with a guarantee that he won't escape. The incident in the bay is likely evidence that the humans had that exact problem!"

Skipper rubbed at his beak thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes at the penguin who stood before him with a furrowed brow, though his expression was more confused than hostile. Kowalski, detecting that this was the only time the bird hadn't been completely hostile to them, chose this moment to attempt to communicate with the stranger.

"E-excuse me," he began, his nerves making him act far more formal than he needed to, "But why were you attacking that dog in the first place?"

"Dogs," the bird corrected gruffly, turning only his head to look to the taller penguin.

"Dogs?" echoed Kowalski, looking for a moment to Skipper. There had been more than one? "I don't understand. Why would you attack one dog, let alone more?"

The bird made a noise that could have been a frustrated sigh and he turned towards the shack they had turned into a temporary home. He waddled towards the open door and slammed it shut. Instead of remaining closed, it bounced open. He gestured with a flipper, but the pair only stared.

The big bird rolled his eyes and demonstrated again, this time shutting the door at an even slower pace. Just as it had before, the door creaked back open, failing to remain shut. He did it one more time, then gestured with both flippers.

"You broke our door?!" Skipper barked, throwing his wings in the air in frustration. Kowalski prevented him from continuing, however.

"No, Skipper, what I beleive he's trying to say was that our door wasn't shut properly."

The psychopath pointed one flipper at Kowalski, while the other tapped his beak.

"Bingo," the bird's words were guttural, few and difficult to understand, but he'd gotten at least part of his point across.

"So?"

"What if his attack on the dogs was justified?"

"Justified? As in, they were...intruding?"

The pair looked to the bird, who stood slouched, a blank look on his face. When he realized they were staring, he provided only yet another one-word answer.

"Yup."

"That doesn't excuse trying to blow up a relatively innocent pooch. We use lethal force only when necessary!"

The big bird scoffed and rolled his eyes and mumbled something unintelligible.

"Skipper, since when is 'he' part of 'we'?"

At this, the bird matched Kowalski's curious stare to the shortest penguin, who stood smiling knowingly.

"Since we can't do anything else with him! We can't leave him unattended, he'll ruin the city. Obviously he's capable of a...small margin of civility. We'll work on that, and who knows, he may turn out to be a valuable part of this unit!"

"Unit?" echoed the tallest, once again fidgeting nervously, casting an uneasy look sideways at the dangerous bird. The bird caught his stare and returned it with a sly grin.

"Yes, Kowalski, unit. We've got the beginnings of one here. With my leadership, your know-how and uh..." Skipper trailed off as he gestured to their newest addition, who still stood slouched, his expression once again blank as he stared down the shorter bird. "Do you have a name, soldier?"

The bird stared for a moment longer. It looked to all the world like he was thinking, as if he'd never been asked that question before. The silence only lasted a few seconds, but for all they were concerned it could have lasted hours. What had he gone through that made remembering his own name such a process?

"Rrr-" he began, as if sounding the letters out as he spoke them "-rrico." Another pause. "Rico."

"Rico?" echoed the tallest, sounding doubtful.

"Uh-huh."

"Suits you, soldier," said Skipper, already moving on to his next order of business. "As I was saying, with my leadership, Kowalski's know-how and Rico's berserker aggression, we've got a bang-up team on our hands!"

Kowalski seemed to light up at the praise, while Rico undermined that pride with a devious chuckle.

"What do you say, Rico? Think you can maintain your psychosis for the sake of your fellow penguins? I'm sure we can put it to good use."

This was something the bird spent significantly less time thinking about. He grinned that same devious grin and nodded.

"Uh-huh!"

"Excellente! Then we're on to our first order of business! With this rambunctious bird on our hands, we're going to need a more acceptable place to lay low. I've been scoping out our options, and I think I know the perfect place. But first..."

The shortest bird puffed out his chest in an authoritative manner and turned his attention to their newest addition. Almost subconsciously, the maniac straightened out, mirroring the way Kowalski automatically went to stand at attention. Skipper felt a smile threaten to slip in place over his beak. They really did have something here.

"Tell me, that...regurgitation thing you did...got anything else stashed in that gut of yours?"

The bird answered with that same devious grin, but this time there was a chuckle to match it.

* * *

**Hello again! Part two!**

**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, it means the world to me. I'm happy this community is so supportive. Please, keep them coming!**

**I'm much happier with this part than I was the last, but that may just be me. Let me know what you think! The more reviews I get, the faster I'm inclined to finish the next part :P**

**You all know who's next~**

**Thanks so much for reading this far, I really appreciate it!**

**Toodles,**

**Shmee**


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